


obsession

by starryanna



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood, Daddy Issues, Dark Romance, Dubious Morality, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Joker (DCU) Angst, Joker (DCU) Has Issues, Knifeplay, Moral Dilemmas, Morally Ambiguous Character, Mutual Pining, Rough Body Play, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Slow Burn, Stabbing, Stockholm Syndrome, Top Joker (DCU), Toxic Relationship, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:40:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28509078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryanna/pseuds/starryanna
Summary: Isla Morte is a British student in Gotham, anxious, quiet and about to go broke. After two chance encounters with the Joker in which he chooses not to end her life, her life begins to spin out of control.Becoming an obsession of the Joker isn't for the weak hearted. It's dangerous, destructive, and oh so addictive.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Reader
Kudos: 16





	obsession

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've never written for the Joker before, so I can only hope that I can manage to do his character justice. TDK is my favourite film of all time, and the Joker is my favourite character of all time, so I decided it was about time I got to writing about him. It helps that he is insanely attractive. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy, feel free to leave any feedback!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You did well, Isla, don’t look so nervous.” A breath of relief escapes me as my professor breaks the good news, I didn’t fail my first assignment of the semester. 

“Thank you, professor.” I mumble, my cheeks heating as they do whenever I’m subjected to any kind of particular attention, positive or negative. I tuck a strand of brunette hair behind my ear, already tired of the long bangs I had cut in last night after a particularly bad night. Oops. 

“However…” Aah, there it is, “There’s always room for improvement, I would love to see a more personal touch from you. Your writing is magnificent, but it’s very removed, distant even. I want you to go out and experience things, things you’re passionate enough to include in your next piece.”

I nod, thanking Professor Lark once more and taking my paper from his outstretched hand. I notice with a slight shake of my head that his wedding ring is off once more, the pale line on his tan hands an indication of how he likes to flirt with his female students. I stuff the assignment into my tote bag, knowing that I will probably never look at it ever again but also simultaneously having an extreme problem when it comes to hoarding things I really don’t need, just incase I ever do need them. 

With one last wave at my slightly more attractive than average professor, I’m out of his classroom and making my way across campus to meet up with my housemates, who thankfully have free periods that coincide with mine. A gust of wind forces me to grip the bottom of my skirt lest it blow up and expose my bum to the whole student body, a lovely reminder that summer is over as the autumn months set in. The idea of ‘fall’ is always so much nicer than the real thing. 

“Isla’s here!” Gabby, the nicest of the three of my housemates, squeals as I approach the outdoor seating area they occupy. Though, I assume it’s less to do with her being excited about my presence and more to do with her warning the other girls so they can stop gossiping before I am within earshot of their conversation. 

“Hi.” I smile, putting my bag onto the free chair and fishing around for my wallet whilst I listen to Freya recount her day. Freya is a lovely girl, however she has a horrible tendency to run on with her words, stories that could be told in under two minutes take ten minutes when they come from her. Realising that she will go on for a while, I excuse myself to buy a coffee. Nothing special, a filter coffee is all I can really allow myself to splash out on. 

The paper cup warms my shivering hands deliciously as I wrap them around it, resting my forearms on the wooden table. Freya is just finishing up her story about how her ex boyfriend liked her profile picture and then unliked it a minute later, the shocked gasps coming from Gabby and Laurie sounding entirely fake. I don’t blame them, it isn’t exactly a riveting tale. 

“So, did you get that assignment back?” Gabby questions, probably thinking back to the way I flopped onto her bed last night, crying and groaning about how I’m a failure to myself and my family because I can’t even do a simple assignment. She had simply laughed and told me I was being overdramatic, as per usual, and she was right. 

“You were right,” I echo my thoughts, “Apparently my writing is magnificent but I need to experience more things that I am passionate about.” I mock Professor Lark’s american accent, earning a laugh from Gabby who fixes me with her familiar ‘I told you so’ glare. 

I’ve lived in Gotham for 4 months now, and I still sound as English as the day I left. All of us do, in fact. The four of us, me, Gabby, Freya, and Laurie all moved here at the same time. It’s a year long ‘enrichment’ experience for our learning. Sure, Gotham probably wouldn’t have been our first choice, what with it’s notorious crime rate and terrible wealth distribution, however we were the last in our University to sign up so we had to accept what we were given. 

Honestly, anything is better than England. I still have 8 months left here and yet the detestable thought of returning to my grey, barren, boring home town. I settled into Gotham life rather quickly. I was nervous, at first I thought that big city life may clash with my extremely anxious nature, but the two seem to be able to coexist quite peacefully. That’s not to say I am no longer anxious, for almost everything fills me to the brim with nerves, but I cannot deny the spark of excitement that I feel waking up everyday in Gotham. 

That will probably change soon, because the small amount of money I had managed to save up for my trip here is running very thin and soon I will be forced to once again rejoin the part time work force whilst balancing my studies, the thought of which makes me want to hurl into the nearest bush. Hence, my reluctance to spend money on a simple coffee. Aah, isn’t student life just great?

“What time are you in ‘till today?” Laurie asks through a mouthful of blueberry muffin, and I can’t help the way my nose crinkles at the unpleasantness of the gesture. 

“Um, 6, I’ve got to run to the bank in between classes, though. I’d better get going.” I stand up, swinging my bag over my shoulder and deciding to drink my bitter coffee on the way. I forgot to pick up a milk sachet inside but the thought of walking back in to retrieve one fills me with way too much embarrassment. 

“Huh? Why do you need to go to the bank?” Gabby calls as I make my exit, her eyes narrowed towards my departing figure. 

“I need to take out rent for the next few months, Roald said I can give it to him in advance with no interest so long as I pay him in cash.”

“That sounds shady.”

“I can’t afford to care about that.” I call, giving them one last smile as I turn the corner, heading towards the exit of the campus. 

The walk to Gotham National Bank is quick, considering that it is right in the centre of Gotham along with my University. I have only been inside once, and that was when I set up my account when I first moved here, making sure I had funds available to withdraw. 

It’s a large building, cold and imposing and I have to stop myself from gulping as I crane my neck to gaze up at the wide expanse of the roof. A hesitance fills my bones, a feeling entering my gut that I cannot explain. Hesitence, maybe, and a spark of something else. A pull of excitement, something urging me to take the last few steps that will allow me to enter the foreboding building. 

I hold my breath as I enter, anxiety gripping my very being as I am surrounded by so many people, most of whom are adorned in suits and high end clothes. I look down at my own outfit and bite my lip in embarrassment, the floral sundress and cardigan hardly give the impression that I would ever fit in with the people milling around in here. 

Anxiety is a funny thing, isn’t it? Here I am, standing in a line for the bank teller, in the midst of 100s of people who couldn’t care less what I’m doing. Yet, my brain is telling me that every single one of these people is judging me. For what? Could be anything, how loud I’m breathing, what I’m wearing, the way I styled my hair this morning. My hands shake slightly by my sides and I dart my eyes from side to side to see if people are really looking at me like I think they are. 

I prepare what I’m going to say to the teller for the 100th time in my head, but just before I step forward to the desk, gunshots rain through the air. I squeal, dropping my bag on the floor as I duck down, shuffling towards the far wall of the bank to try and evade the gun shots. I only realise my mistake when I take a moment to look around and realise literally every other person is hiding behind a desk or some form of protection, yet here I am completely out in the open. 

I pull my legs up to my chest, cursing myself for deciding to wear a dress today as I look over my knees, trying to decipher what on earth is going on. I’m used to hearing about things like this, I researched Gotham thoroughly before my move here. I heard about the crime, the frequent muggings, sexual assaults, and murders that happen here. I also heard about the strange gas attacks by a former Gotham psychologist. And still I, along with my three housemates, thought it a good idea to move here. Well, here I am, about to face the consequences of my stupid, reckless desicion to go through with the move. Oh, I don’t want to die in this outfit, my corpse will stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of all these well dressed people. 

My eyes focus in on where the majority of the gun fire is emanating from, a gasp slipping from my mouth as I see the various gunmen adorned in clown masks, their steps fast as they begin to herd the people in the bank towards the right side of the room, near the desks we were previously lined up for. Two clowns remain in the main hall with us once the group has dispersed and there is a moment of calm before more gun shots ring out and I whimper once more. My brows furrow as I survey the scene and realise that neither of the clowns, who have now shielded themselves behind a desk, are shooting. I realise with a chill shooting down my spine that one of the clowns is staring right at me, gaze unwavering, since the way they have shielded themselves leaves them facing me. 

The mask this particular clown wears is kind of grimy, a permanent frown painted on. His head tilts to the side ever so slightly as he gazes at me, I don’t even want to imagine who lurks underneath the mask. I’m relieved from his gaze when his partner speaks to him, the two of them attacking the man who is shooting at them. I close my eyes, rocking back and forth slightly as I try to block out this situation. They’re clearly here for the money, so if I don’t bother them then they won’t hurt me, right? I ignore the confrontation occuring, only opening my eyes again when a shadow falls in front of me. 

The other clown stands in front of me, his back to me as he points his gun at the frowning clown. Huh, I thought they were working together? The frowning clown doesn’t seem too concerned by the gun pointed at his head, and he lowers his gaze to meet me once more. My eyes widen and I can’t drag them away from his. He raises his hand suddenly and I flinch, thinking he is going to pull out a gun but instead he gestures to the side with his thumb, eyes still fixed on me. I quickly realise he’s telling me to move to the side, I pause for a second and he gestures more aggressively. I don’t know why but something deep inside me tells me to listen to him, and I quickly crawl as far away as I can. 

“Oh, no, no, no. I killed the bus driver.” I shiver at the sound of his voice. It’s light and dark at the same time, menacing yet childish. Why do I like it?

Another scream rips through me as the wall I was previously sitting in front of is obliterated as a bright yellow school bus crashes through it. Oh my God… this is why he told me to move. Did he just save my life? 

The man pointing a gun at him is unconscious, dead from the impact I assume and the frowning clown ruthlessly shoots the man who crashed the bus into the bank. No sounds escape me this time, I think I’ve gone numb to what is happening. I vaguely note the clown talking to the gunned down bank manager and as he stands up, I’m not prepared for the sight that greets me. He’s removed his mask, yet he’s wearing another one underneath in the form of bright, messy face paint. The majority of his face is painted a harsh white, the black circles around his eyes contrasting sharply and making his eyes seem like neverending pits. His lips are painted a deep red, but it extends further than that and I quickly realise he is covering up some mangled scars. 

I can’t tear my eyes away from him as he walks back towards the bus. He has a strange walk, he’s skipping slightly, but he looks as if he is trying to run away from something without it looking obvious that he is running. As if feeling my eyes on him, his snap over in my direction and he pauses mid step. He changes course and to my horror, walks over until he is standing directly in front of me, towering over me as I gulp. He grins, baring his yellow teeth at me and reaches forward. I squeal, quickly becoming confused when he grabs my chin, tilting my head back so I’m staring right at him.

“I, ah, saved your life, toots,” His gloved thumb rubs over my chin, brushing against my lip slightly, “You owe me one.” He winks, and then as quickly as he came, he is gone. Leaving nothing but destruction in his wake,and I can’t help but wonder why a part of me wanted to climb into that bus with him. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───


End file.
